


dying to lay down with you

by searwrites (sears)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Deep Throating, Domestic verse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panties, Pet Names, dp, etc etc - Freeform, gross boyfriends, mentions alcohollism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sears/pseuds/searwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>originally posted on tumblr</p><p>-----</p><p>domestic verse that i created as an excuse to flesh out erejearmin headcanons</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eren gets the call to pick up Armin just before 1am from Sasha, who is barely sober enough to be able to articulate where he needs to pick him up from. It ends up being a dive bar on the edges of downtown, near one particular neighborhood that makes Eren twitch with anxiety when he thinks about Armin wandering around it alone at night, possibly heavily intoxicated and loose to the point of potentially saying yes to the kinds of people Eren would curb stomp if he ever caught them near him.

The air smells wet, and the chill in the breeze seems to dissipate the usual humid and rotten stench from this part of the city - instead it smells almost clean, in a way that fresh gasoline and carbon emissions can ever be considered ‘clean’. Eren would have brought Jean with him, but Jean has been working since 7am - still _is_ working, in fact - and anyways, Eren thinks Jean and piss drunk Armin might not be a good combo, at least not without Eren being given the chance to calm Armin down a little first.

He even stops at one of the liquor stores, buys Armin a bottle of that mango flavored aloe juice that he loves, the kind that makes him want to hurl just on memory of a moment. He won’t give it to him now - for reasons that make Eren’s stomach feel delicate and rife with the urge to hurl _again_ \- but Armin will appreciate the treat tomorrow.

The bar itself is so strictly stereotypical that Eren can’t help but roll his eyes. Wood walls, stained and faded red carpet, pool tables at the back by a bunch of slot machines masquerading as games. Even two bloated old CRT televisions are hanging above the bar, distorting Armin’s school’s basketball game with a nice vintage and dusty haze.

That isn’t why Armin’s here - he couldn’t give less of a shit about sports or supporting academic extracurriculars. Armin’s here because he is a dry sponge, because he thinks this is what ‘normal people’ do when they’re distressed, because he thinks drinking yourself into a coma is an actual effective method of coping.

Eren is frequently beginning to question Armin’s schooling and how well it’s actually doing him.

And oh, _Armin_ … Eren spots him, hunched over a booth at the back, behind one of the pool tables, his head pillowed between the gap in his forearms. It’s even better he didn’t ask Jean to come with him - he’d be a panicky mess just at the sight.

"Jesus, Armin," Eren murmurs, combing his fingers through Armin’s hair. He gasps a little as Armin looks up at him, lifts his head as though it weighs about the same as a jet engine, with about as much complex machinery inside, all sloshed in liquor and rendered dysfunctional. His eyes are red and watery, and it’s about the least put together Eren has ever seen him.

"Sasha is my least favorite friend," Armin slurs.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Eren whispers, somewhat in wonder, and Armin frowns horribly.

“Fuck you. I’m the _most_ put together, okay, you don’t get to say that-”

“Armin, stop it,” Eren grunts, hoisting Armin up and away from the booth, trying to get him to stand on his own and then cursing when he wobbles and nearly collapses in a graceless heap of limbs. The boy is still all skin and bones, they both are, but he’s not as tiny as he used to be.

Eren gets Armin’s arm around him, holds it like a dangling weight, and manages to successfully navigate their exit from this shithole. He thinks about calling a cab, but then he thinks again about the vast, gaping emptiness of his wallet, and grunts when he pulls Armin by the wrist over his shoulder, hitches his hip and fits them together, at least until the position is a little more conducive to walking.

He could have taken Jean’s car, and Jean will probably bitch him out for not doing it, but he didn’t want to snap Jean from his trance, didn’t want to distract him enough to say _“Armin is drinking his weight in cheap rum, can I borrow your car?”_ Jean would’ve had a shit fit once he stopped for long enough to realize what he’d been saying.

Armin grumbles on about being a burden, about both Eren and Jean not needing him anymore, which is so heavily crusted in bullshit that Eren doesn’t even acknowledge it. It was Armin’s fucking idea in the first place, there wouldn’t be a _‘them’_ if it wasn’t for him.

He manages to drag Armin into the stairwell of their apartment, much to the gasping shock of a small gaggle of girls on the street who are glaring at Eren like he’s just returned from a successful trip out to roofie cute college twinks. Armin isn’t helping, not with the way his head rolls onto Eren’s shoulder, not with the way it looks like he’s lost complete control of his own body.

Eren decides he’s some kind of magician too, because maneuvering a dead-weighted body and a pair of keys to unlock a door is some kind of mystical feat. He could have knocked, could have interrupted Jean from his near nightly trance to get him to help him out a little, but he didn’t want Armin to start crying again. Eren kicks the door shut, and they stumble right past him, Jean not offering much more than a grunt that acknowledges their existence, all while continuing to focus on his computer.

He slumps Armin’s liquid body onto the bed, tries to keep him sitting upright, lest he chokes on his own tongue, and laughs quietly at the few times Armin bats his hands away, insistent that he can take off his own boots. He can’t, not at all, and it isn’t funny, but laughing somehow makes him feel a little better about it.

It’s Jean’s fault Armin is like this. Eren would never say that out loud - Jean has an awfully poignant guilt complex with the two of them. There’s still a part of him that sees their relationship as bad or toxic, and Eren doesn’t think anyone can talk him out of it except for himself. It doesn’t help that Jean had been fed up with the world last night, getting into a petty argument with Armin over cleaning dishes, and blurted that _“Maybe we all just need a break from each other, yeah?”_

Eren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Armin get so angry.

Which is a far cry from the way he is now, all sloppy and loose, weepy in an almost comedic way. He smells like cigarettes, which is disconcerting, and kind of sweet, like stale liquor and poorly mixed cocktails. He can only imagine what he’d been drinking with Sasha - probably neon colored mixers that are generally only used on shit like ‘ladies night’, the rims of martini glasses dipped in crushed candy and sugar.

“ _Eren_ ,” Armin says, frantic like he’s just realized something important, pulling at Eren’s face until he’s looking at him, “Eren, I’ve loved you since I was born, do you realize that? I have loved you my _entire_ life, that’s a-” Armin makes an odd noise that’s a cross between a hiccup and a burp, and Eren bites on his lips to keep from snorting too loud, worried about pissing off Jean while he works. “-that’s a _big fucking deal_.”

“It _is_ a big deal,” Eren agrees, coddling him with an affirmative nod, and then resumes unlacing Armin’s boots.

“Do you think we could have fucked when we were kids?”

Eren _does_ snort this time, both at the colorful language and at the irony. “We did fuck when we were kids, remember?”

Armin seems to veer right off the rails that train of thought was headed down, and instead asks, “Why does Jean work so much now?”

Eren fumbles with Armin’s laces, sighs heavily and feels it in his back, feels the deep ache of a severe lack of sleep and hates how familiar it all is. “Because supporting three people isn’t easy, Armin.”

_Shit_ , Eren thinks, as Armin’s face crumples.

“Oh. Eren, Jean hates me!” Armin wails, loud enough that Eren leaps up to cover his mouth with his hand, to keep him quiet.

“He doesn’t hate you Armin, come on-”

“He _does_ ,” Armin interrupts, and then petulantly shoves Eren away from him, kicking his boots off and falling over onto his side in the process. He curls up into a ball in that position, while Eren extracts what’s left of his jacket. “He doesn’t want to be with us anymore, you heard him. It’s my fault.”

Eren stops what he’s doing and kneels so his face is level with Armin’s, brushes his knuckles down his damp cheeks. He really is crying now, and seeing him hurt, however fueled by booze it may be, makes Eren’s chest feel like it’s imploding.

Armin squeezes his eyes shut tight, his eyelashes gathering unshed tears, his nose red and mouth trembling. Eren knows he’s drunk, but part of him worries that Armin really believes all this shit he’s saying - that Jean doesn’t want them now, that Armin somehow messed it all up.

“Jean!” Eren shouts, because he’s fucking had enough now.

There’s a tender ache that manifests in his chest at how quickly Jean comes bursting into the room, tousled and confused, and entirely out of breath.

“What is it? Is he alright?”

Armin makes a rasped squeaking noise, buries his face into the covers like he’s hiding.

“Tell Armin you love him,” Eren says, groaning as his knees pop when he stands.

He needs a shower, first and foremost. Armin does too, but Eren’s too tired to hold him up throughout the entirety of one. Eren just can’t seem to shake the stench of that bar, and it reminds him too much of how he thought he’d end up - catching a glimpse of what Armin would look like in his place felt like someone had stabbed him.

Eren is tired, too, aching and cold. Hot water is needed to soothe him, to help him sleep. He’s in a daze as he undresses, leaving a trail of clothes on his trek to the shower, and he only just catches a glimpse of Jean cupping Armin’s wet face and murmuring a pained, “ _Baby-_ ” before he shuts himself in.

Fifteen minutes into his shower, and Eren is practically asleep on his feet. He’s been standing completely still beneath the spray, inhaling steam and letting his body unwind from it. He could really fucking use a drink, he thinks, and it’s a little unfair that Armin’s allowed to have so many.

“Room for one more?”

Jean’s head pokes into the shower from behind the curtain, and Eren’s so sleepy now that it doesn’t even startle him. He’s half expecting Jean to toss Armin at him like a sack of potatoes, claim he’s his responsibility, but he sighs in relief as Jean’s very sober and very solid body slides in. He moves right in front of Eren, slides his arms around his waist, the warmth of the water pooling where there skin meets an added bonus to the whole being naked together thing.

“Why didn’t you take the car?” Jean asks, and Eren immediately groans.

“Because you would’ve freaked out and demanded to come, and then Armin might not have come home with us.”

Jean looks startlingly wounded by that. Eren blinks through the water in his eyes until it stings, and then lifts his hands to wipe it all away.

“Is he really that mad at me?”

Eren smirks a little, amused by how oblivious Jean can be. “Well, you _did_ say you wanted a break from us-”

“ _Fuck_ , Eren,” Jean moans pathetically, “You know that isn’t how I meant it.”

“ _I_ know that,” Eren says, leaning down and to the side for the shampoo, “Armin doesn’t.”

“I’ll tell him again when he’s sober then.”

Jean snatches the bottle of shampoo from Eren, squirts some of it into his palm and works a lather into Eren’s hair without even asking permission. Eren moans, lets Jean take the weight of his head while his fingers massage at his scalp.

“What _did_ you mean by it?” Eren mumbles, getting sleepier by the minute, drunk on heat and Jean’s fingers.

“I’m just… not used to this. It’s hard living with other people.”

Eren gets it, but it still hurts to hear it vocalized. It’s more than just ‘living with other people’, Eren sees that statement for what it is - he’s saying Eren wouldn’t understand, neither would Armin. That they’ve lived together for so long it just feels natural to them, where Jean is still convinced he’s an outsider- which is fucking ridiculous.

He moans again, Jean working down towards his nape, tilting his head back to rinse the suds from his hair while still massaging. Jean must take it as some kind of cue to keep talking.

“And I only meant it for like, I don’t know, a weekend or something. Not like a _break_ break.”

Eren opens his eyes when Jean’s hands drop to his shoulders, decides it’s time to be honest. “I think you need a break from work,” he says, “Not us.”

Jean looks like he’s ready to argue this, which Eren decides now he will sleep in this fucking tub if he must, because he isn’t indulging another ‘here is why working is so important when you’re poor’, but Jean seems to get distracted by Eren’s dick poking him in the thigh.

“Not even gonna offer to massage my head first, huh?”

Eren grins salaciously. “I’ll massage your head if you want.”

Jean snorts, though it turns into a wrecked gasp when Eren’s mouth latches to his neck. He tastes sweet in the way that Jean’s skin always does, clean and wet. If Jean were to taste like a color it would be white.

Jean’s grip around Eren’s waist is so possessive that it makes Eren’s dick throb, and he keeps his face buried in Jean’s neck while he pushes his hips forward insistently.

“Conditioner,” Eren requests, mumbles it against Jean’s skin.

“Armin’s all out, we need to go shopping.”

Eren shakes his head. “Your stuff.”

Jean huffs. “Spoiled brat,” he says.

Eren grins against Jean’s neck when he hears him concede, and then tries to hide it as Jean turns to reach behind him for the tall, thin bottle of purple luxury. The shit costs Jean a small fortune, and only he ever really uses it because both Eren and Armin are happy with bottom shelf Pert or Suave, but it feels like _heaven_ to jerk off with. The exasperated scowl on Jean’s otherwise pleasantly flushed face tells Eren he’s worked out that this is not a new idea for him.

Jean slicks the both of them up with it, squeezes their dicks together until they slip from his palm, and then twists his wrist, works in a rhythm that has Eren biting down onto Jean’s shoulder to keep quiet.

“Did you put Armin-”

“He’s sleeping,” Jean answers gruffly, moaning right into Eren’s ear without meaning to, “Put him on his side, he won’t choke and die, I promise.”

Eren hitches his hips higher, fucks the wonderful combination of Jean’s fist and his cock. Eren can’t hold his head up anymore, it is a physically impossible feat to accomplish, so instead he rests his forehead on Jean’s collarbone, makes Jean take the weight of him while he watches the vaguely purple hue of slicked fingers bring him off.

They wash each other off again, by which point Eren is so exhausted he feels like his bones are even giving up, legs turning to jelly. He’s awake enough to make a lewd joke about his pubes being soft and frizz free, which earns him a swift smack to the ass while Jean wraps a towel around himself.

Eren is half expecting Jean to shove on a pair of sweats and get back to work, he even frowns pitifully when Jean walks out to the living room again, but then relaxes and unwinds that particular coil of tension when Jean merely puts the machine to sleep.

Their bed is small, but Eren’s starting to think they won’t ever get a bigger one. Both Eren and Jean curl around Armin, who is indeed alive, not choking, and sleeping soundly. Eren tucks Armin against his chest, while Jean kisses the backs of Armin’s wrists, curled up under his chin like a cat or a bunny or something equally soft and irresistibly cuddly-when-sleepy. They fit around him like brackets, curved around their own living and breathing qualifying remark, the sum of what they will always be and bound by the one that wanted it so badly.

Jean wants it just as badly - Eren knows this for certain, has no doubt in his body. He only hopes he’s capable enough to convince Armin he isn’t lying about it.

—

Jean wasn’t aware that Eren had a morning shift, not until he’s startled awake by his alarm coming from beneath Eren’s pillow. Armin barely moves, still cemented into seep, but Jean is alert as soon as he hears it.

He feels guilty for letting Eren take care of Armin last night now, for not offering to help or to do it for him. Jean doesn’t so much have hours at his work as he has deadlines - deadlines that can consume small nations and their governing leaders, by the amount of effort and work that goes into conquering them on time. By the ends of most weeks Jean feels like a skeleton wrapped in leather, tough but worn down, only held together by basic structure and someone else’s thick skin.

He makes Eren breakfast, because he spoils them both rotten, but also because he feels like he deserves it - and possibly needs it, the walking dead is not a good look for Eren, it only amplifies his naturally occurring dark circles. He leaves Jean with a bottle of that aloe juice that Armin loves, tells him to give it to him and to be nice to him today, that he’s Armin’s appointed hangover nurse.

Armin wakes just before noon, looking much like he’s been run over by the train that inspired his late morning snoring, but at least it left Jean to get a significant chunk of work done. Armin looks grumpy when he slumps into the small table at their kitchen, and Jean makes breakfast for the second time today.

“You can make fun of me, if you want,” Armin murmurs dejectedly, smashing the remnants of his ketchup into the scraps from his eggs with the back of his fork, “I deserve it.”

Jean isn’t ready for another argument - this kitchen seems to be fucking cursed, igniting them almost daily now. He leaves Armin to wallow in his misery alone for a little while he finishes off the rest of the script he’d started in the morning. Junior level programming is a lot more like those reality tv shows Armin watches, the ones where Tyra Banks tells underfed girls if they’re pretty or not, if they can effectually manipulate the lids of their eyes to fit magazine industry standards. Except the code is Jean’s dashing good looks, and his Tyra is a lot more concerned about structural efficiency than shallow pursuits. There are other contestants, though, and sometimes it really does feel like a competition.

Mikasa comes over just after lunchtime, lets herself in, which still ruffles Jean’s feathers. He’s never said anything about it, and he wouldn’t - she lived here before he did. He wouldn’t say he kicked her out, she left of her own accord, but sometimes it feels like she hasn’t left, like the ghost of her still remains, or maybe it’s just all the leftover paper bags from all of the ridiculously overpriced groceries she brings in.

She _always_ brings them food, and it drives Jean up the wall. Like he can’t afford it himself, which is insulting. It might be a struggle, but they manage, it’s not like how it was for them as kids. And by ‘them’ Jean means Eren, Armin, and Mikasa, because the only struggles _he_ knew in his childhood were being told to clean his room when the nanny wouldn’t do it, and having to deal with his horse being sold when his parents moved them off the farm.

Mikasa usually acts like it’s nothing, waltzes into the kitchen like the fridge is still hers to stock, and Jean was just about to take his break but he pretends he’s still working to avoid it. She says something to Armin about buying too much again, which she says every time she comes over with her bags full of worry and pity, and Jean tunes her out. She’s like the mother Eren and Armin never had, in a strange way, it makes Jean uncomfortable sometimes. She has this way of looking at Jean that makes him feel like shit - looks at him the way the old ladies do in the supermarket, when he’s caught kissing Eren’s cheek while holding Armin’s hand, like he’s some kind of pervert staked out behind a high school, and not shopping for fucking groceries with the two people he chooses to share his life with.

By the time she leaves, Armin has moved his hungover sulking to the couch, and Jean can’t ignore him anymore - doesn’t even want to, really.

He flops down onto the couch, nudges Armin’s thigh with his knee. Armin pouts and Jean sighs, pulls Armin into his lap and ignores his indignant protests - they’re half hearted anyway.

Jean gets him so he’s forced to look at him, so their noses touch, so he can kiss Armin’s face if he wants to. Armin looks horribly sad, like he might cry again, and Jean is so weak to this - it’s unfair.

“You’re such a baby,” Jean scolds him, sounding far too fond and pressing the side of his nose into Armin’s.

It’s not an insult so much as a pet name - Armin is the baby and Eren is the brat. Thinking about it now, he realizes this makes him seem like even more of a cradle robbing pervert, but fuck the general public, Armin and Eren are _his_ to tease how he likes. Armin was resistant to it at first, mainly because Jean had only initially called him ‘baby’ during sex, and it just sort of bled into their daily lives by way of osmosis, by the slow realization that how he felt about Armin during sex was not separate from how he feels about him any other time.

Eren is just the brat because, well- he’s a fucking brat.

“You should be apologizing to me,” Armin scowls.

“For what?” Jean smirks, and then kisses Armin just to be contrary, warm but chaste.

“For threatening to leave us.”

Jean sobers at this, recognizes that he’s not going to charm his way out of this, and pulls far enough away from Armin to see the whole of his face. His eyes are still a little puffy from having cried last night, and Jean hates himself for being the cause of it.

“I’m not leaving you. I thought maybe we could just do different things for like a weekend, separately.”

Armin frowns. “You need a vacation from your stupid fucking job.”

Jean sighs, not bothering to hide how put upon it makes him seem. “You and Eren have been talking.”

“Of course we have. That’s what people do, when they live together, they talk.”

Jean kisses him, without any agenda behind it this time, simply because he’s here and he’s warm in Jean’s lap, frowning and alive with upset.

“I am not leaving. Ever. Work is really rough for me right now, but it will get better, I promise. I’m just… on edge, okay? I’m sorry.”

It’s the kind of apology Armin was looking for, it seems by his genuine grin - the kind that is unintentional, slips right through the cracks. Armin presses his mouth to Jean’s, calmed for now - and he’s such a _dainty_ kisser. He only ever uses tongue when the intent is sexual, which makes Jean’s gentle nips at his lower lip, the soft flicks of his tongue against the seam of his mouth, all the more rewarding. Eren said Jean had mastered the art of getting Armin hot and squirmy, which Jean took as a compliment - it’s nice to have a leg up on someone who’s had a nineteen year head start.

Eren comes home, and Jean vows to stay off the computer for the rest of the day. They all eat dinner together, picking food straight from the square Lucky Garden cartons, and Jean thinks nothing could be better than this. He could have stayed in school, gone for his masters and gotten an internship at one of the coastal mega-firms, but he wouldn’t have _this_ \- wouldn’t have Armin stealing bites from both Eren’s fork and Jean’s chopsticks, and he wouldn’t have Eren’s lemon chicken-y mouth kissing him with obscene amounts of tongue just to gross Armin out.

He doesn’t tell them that he _does_ have to leave soon, because it feels like breaking the promise he made, even if it’s only for a week. The thought of leaving them makes him dizzy with fear, despite how much it makes sense. He’d spent those first three weeks before deciding to move in making himself physically ill with worry, hating himself for wanting a relationship so otherwise unconventional.

It felt illegal, in a way, to love two people so fiercely, only to have them both love each other _and_ you right back with just as more force. Eren sometimes says he was born with a horseshoe up his ass, he’s been so lucky, and honestly - if he said it again, Jean wouldn’t argue. He just sometimes looks at the two of them and wonders if perhaps he’s used all of that luck up.


	2. Chapter 2

Armin tries his very best not to laugh at the way this was approached - with Eren and Jean cornering him like concerned family members, sitting on the couch opposite the bean bag Armin’s currently cradling his laptop in. They’ve got their elbows on their knees, their serious faces on, like an intervention.

“We have an idea,” Jean says.

Eren would look angry if Armin didn’t know better, if he didn’t recognize the look as rigid determination. He’s got a white box in his lap, thin and rectangular.

“What is it?” Armin asks, curious as he closes his laptop slowly.

Eren opens the box. Out from beneath a layer of tissue he pulls up a pair of black lace women’s panties. The lace itself is delicate and sheer, and Armin’s stomach does a dizzying anticipatory lurch at the sight of them.

“We want you to wear them,” Eren says, his voice clipped and low, “For us.”

Armin swallows thickly. He can imagine the feel of the lace being pulled up his thighs, can picture the delicate curve of his cock beneath the front panel, the bulge it would make and how little the fabric would hide what was beneath. Thinking about the fact that both of them must be thinking along the same lines, at least enough to have bought the garment, makes Armin a little dizzy.

“What’s in it for me?” Armin asks, feigning mild disinterest.

“We’ll do anything,” Jean says.

“Yeah, anything you want,” Eren agrees.

Armin stops to think about this for a moment. It doesn’t help that he’s already wildly turned on by the prospect of wearing something so otherwise taboo, of the fact that he has the ability to get them both desperate enough to say they’ll do _anything_.

So he blames it on being way too horny when his response is, “I want both of you in me. At the same time.”

There’s a significant pause where Eren’s face goes beet red and Jean’s jaw seems to lose its muscular structure, and he gapes like an invalid.

“Won’t that… hurt?” Eren asks quietly.

“Probably a little,” Armin replies, and thinking about it only makes him harder, makes a thick pulsing arousal manifest in his stomach. “But I trust you. And I want it.”

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Jean murmurs in awe, and Eren turns even redder, only his eyes have gone a little less wide, his lids drooping and his pupils getting fat.

And alright, Armin figures. This is actually happening.

.

.

Armin wears the panties the whole day, which is a part of the deal. It takes a little while to adjust to the feel of something so snug around his hips, of the restriction it puts on his cock. It itches a little at first, but Armin eventually starts to like it. He thumbs the edges at his hips throughout the day, when he can get away with it, smirks a little at the red lacey imprint left in his skin. They got a size smaller than they probably should have, but it’s okay, and perhaps women’s underwear is supposed to fit this way anyway.

He makes sure to let them see it in the morning. Armin has class all day, and Jean has work. Eren’s been out of a job for a few weeks now, so he’s probably lazing around the house, thinking about Armin, maybe. He waited until Jean got out of his shower to get dressed, pulled them on right as he was walking into their room, and swallowed a laugh when Jean nearly dropped his towel. With Eren he bent over in his general line of sight in the living room, wore his tighter jeans so that they slide down his ass over the panties. Armin only knows Eren saw because of the choked sound he made at the time.

Eren must be losing his mind at home, Armin thinks, because Armin has had the distraction of classes all day, but he can’t stop thinking about it. He supposes some of that can be attributed to wearing the panties and being aware of how different it feels, but even still.

And it’s really the first time they’ve ever planned something like this, the first time sex has been more than just impulsive, the first time Armin really realizes that this is more than just a result of mutual boredom, that all three of them _want_ this - whatever this pseudo relationship should be called, Armin doesn’t know.

It’s thinking about this, and thinking about the power he holds over them by wearing something so simple and small, that’s getting him off a little, making his cock thicken in his jeans until he wills it away, squirming beneath the heat of his laptop while he tries to focus on his lecture.

He feels kinda slutty with what he’s about to do, but in a good way, in a way that makes him feel a little drunk, or high, or a delicious combination of both. He takes a break just before his last class, walks up to the third floor bathrooms, the ones nobody uses, just in case. He tugs his jeans down, exposes just the very tip of his cock peeking out, smashed against his stomach by the lace. He pulls out his phone, takes a picture, and then nearly gnaws his lips off after he sends it to Eren and Jean, waiting for a response.

Eren replies first with a _‘shit did u take that at school?’_

Armin’s response is an innocently smiling emoticon, while Jean’s reply of _‘fuck, this day is awesome’_ comes in.

Armin pockets his phone and then skips off to class. He feels it buzz a few times throughout, but doesn’t check it. It’s the last class of the day, nearing 4 when Jean gets off, so they’ll both be about as anxious as Armin is by now, maybe even more so.

.

.

Armin deliberately takes the long way home, hops off the bus a few stops early and walks. His phone buzzes again a few times. He pulls it out to check, and giggles a little excitedly at Eren so blatantly freaking out over him being late.

When he gets to their apartment, Eren is pacing around their room, pushing at his lip and his cheek so he can bite the inside of them better. Jean is laying back on the bed, muttering vague attempts at getting Eren to calm down- “he’s only like 20 minutes later than usual” or “stop pacing, you’re making _me_ nervous”.

They both stop completely when Armin walks in, his cheeks pink from walking in the brisk early spring air, and then also probably a little hotter than usual in strung out arousal. His heart feels small and a little weak, beating so fast in his chest he’s worried it might short circuit and die. Eren gives him a harried look, and Jean sits up on the bed, looks like he wants to go to Armin, and then thinks better of it.

Armin starts to laugh, because Jean is frantically taking his clothes off, obviously just as anxious as the rest of them, and just better at hiding it. Eren does go to Armin, grips the back of his hair and kisses him, plays with the top of the lace peeking out from Armin’s jeans at his back. Armin gets that dizzy rush again, from feeling like a slut - _their_ slut - and starts moaning into Eren’s mouth. It trips some kind of nervous tick, gets him fumbling backwards to undress himself, even makes him trip and stumble a few times.

Not much is said in their haste, but Armin ends up laid out on the bed, in nothing but the black panties, a stark contrast against his pale skin. Eren keeps kissing him, mouth hot and wet, and he pets Armin’s stomach while he does, skitters his touch up to touch his nipples every now and then. Jean is between Armin’s legs, mouthing wetly at his dick through the lace, and Armin can’t really formulate thoughts outside of _yes, god, keep doing this, all of it._

It’s Jean that gets impatient. He tucks his fingers beneath the hem of the panties, tries to rip them down Armin’s thighs. Armin lurches up a little, knocks Eren backwards on the chin without meaning to.

“No, don’t take them off!” he yelps.

Jean sends him a pitifully confused frown.

“Just,” Armin begins, and then his voice quietens significantly, confidence draining now that they’ve both stopped touching him, “-rip a hole in them. Please?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eren curses to his side, and Armin catches his eyes snapping wide and focused, going all intense the way he does when he doesn’t realize he’s honing in on what he wants.

Jean’s frown only flickers momentarily, and then he says, “These cost us like fifty bucks though.”

Armin lifts an eyebrow that says nothing more than _‘really dude?’._ Eren is a bit more violent in his disagreement, he whips around, punches Jean so hard in the shoulder that Armin almost swears he can hear a threaded crack.

“ _Ah_ , fuck,” Jean curses, and then gazes down at Armin’s dick, looks at it almost fondly. “Shit, you’re right, who cares,” he murmurs, and then tugs on the seat of the panties, pushes his fingers beneath them and rips open an ungraceful hole right at the bottom.

Eren just keeps kissing him, whimpering a little as Armin lazily fists his dick, while Eren keeps stroking his stomach, trailing his hand down further to trace the wetness Jean left on his cock.

Jean, on the other hand, shoves Armin’s legs as far up and to the side as they’ll go, dips down until he’s laid out on his stomach, and starts tonguing the torn edges of the lace. It gets Armin practically sobbing into Eren’s mouth by the time Jean is pushing his tongue into Armin, getting him wet and trembling. Jean has an oral fixation, which has turned into a sort of expert fucking skill, so much so that Eren has to just hold Armin, cradles his tousled blond head against his chest and helps to hold his knees up while Jean fucks him with his tongue.

It gets to be too much, Armin is going to come from this, and he doesn’t want to, not until he’s been fucked, not until he’s been filled by them both. He pushes at Jean’s head to tell him, all the while Eren’s heart is pounding so hard Armin can feel it, only notices it isn’t his own because it’s slightly out of synch.

Once Jean has pulled away, Armin pushes Eren onto his back, straddles his hips. Eren has the tendency to get a little rough when he’s either excited or nervous, so doing this with him beneath them both makes it a little easier.

The panties are an odd sensation now - the edges tight and a little sore from the patterned imprint around the hems, but the seat of them open and wet, still damp from Jean’s mouth. Jean spent a decent amount of time stretching Armin with his fingers once he could finally manage to pull his mouth away, got him all slippery with lube, which only amplifies the wet feeling of nothing on his ass where the panties once held him snug.

So it’s easy when Armin sits on Eren’s dick, slides down like it’s nothing, already craving more. He leans over Eren, with Jean’s open palm between his shoulder blades, guiding him. Eren holds him like he’s afraid he’ll break, which is a lot less insulting than it used to be - Eren is just a lot more tender in bed than both of them expected.

When Jean pushes in, it hurts, but it isn’t excruciating, and it isn’t enough for Armin to tell them to stop. Eren strokes Armin’s hair, scratches his scalp, and Jean takes it slow, sliding in with a seemingly neverending string of low, almost whispered groans. Once he’s in, Armin’s entire body relaxes a little, he breathes in measured counts, in and out, and lets himself take both of them, lets his body adjust. His face and neck feel hot, so it’s nice when Eren starts licking his neck and then blowing on it.

Eren starts stroking Armin’s stomach again, fingers lightly at his now soft cock through the lace. He can tell by the look on Eren’s face that he wants to ask, even though he’s explained it before - just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he isn’t enjoying it. Jean starts massaging his lower back, both hands on his hips, rubbing and pressing with his thumbs. For a tiny blip of a moment, Armin thinks he might cry from the overwhelming attention and care, but he manages to hold it back for fear of upsetting Eren. Instead he starts to move, lifts and drops in tiny pulses, starts to twist his hips. Eren stops petting Armin, snatches at his ribs and grunts out incoherent curses, squeezes Armin’s skin. Even Jean drops his head, rests it against Armin’s back and almost whimpers every time he lets himself push forward, fucking Armin alongside Eren.

Armin feels it too, grips tight on Eren’s shoulders and moans without holding back at every sensation. It still hurts, but it’s a dull burn, a slow ache that all three of them are careful with. Jean’s dick is pushing Eren’s into his prostate, and Armin’s entire body vibrates with pleasure every time it does. His cock is still soft, but it’s damp with precome and sticking to Eren’s stomach by a thread of wetness from the lace.

They pick up the pace once they get used to it - Armin to the sensation of being so fucking full, and Eren and Jean to each other and the rhythm they’ve adopted for this. Eren comes first, shouting and biting on his lips, and Armin moans like a seasoned whore because he can feel it so acutely, can feel the heat of him being filled, can feel the way it makes Jean’s movements more slick and easy.

Jean uses Eren’s come to fuck Armin harder, slams his hips a little faster, grips the back of Armin’s hair when he leans over to kiss Eren’s open and panting mouth, tugs a little at Armin’s head so he can see it. Eren’s dick stays half hard, but he still slips out, and Jean slumps over the both of them when he comes not long after.

Eren is so out of breath, even more so with the weight of two people on top of him. He keeps cursing and saying how hot Armin looks, the panties still on him, the ripped opening having split the garment almost in two now, his cock thickening and falling free of the lace. Eren struggles to get his hand between their stomachs wanting to get Armin off now, but Jean has other plans. He pushes himself up, kneels backwards. He shoves Armin off of Eren once he’s pulled out, Armin falling with a tiny yelp to the side, and then rearranges him by grabbing his hips, pulling his ass into plain view and spreading him enough so the both of them can see.

“ _Fuck_ , baby, you took it so well,” Jean says, using his fingers to push both his and Eren’s come back into Armin, tilting his hips so it stays there.

Eren hums a mumbled concurrence, then leans over to start kissing Armin’s shoulders, down along his spine. Jean starts to finger him like this, plays with the come inside him and pushes down on his prostate until Armin is a trembling, moaning mess.

Eren ends up climbing beneath him while Jean lifts his hips up to give him room, and then he tears the rest of the panties until they’re nothing but a draped scrap of fabric over Armin’s backside, freeing his dick. Eren starts fondling Armin until he’s hard and leaking, licking the drops of precome right from the tip of him, kissing the head of his dick the same way he kisses his mouth.

Armin comes, jaw dropped on a silent scream, his nerves caught on sensory overload. Eren dodges the spurts of it, rolls out from under Armin and cradles him to his chest when Armin falls to the mattress, completely spent.  
.

.

An aided shower later, and they’re all cuddled up in their bed that’s too small for them, Jean’s chest pressed into Armin’s back, Eren holding Armin’s face and kissing his pink and over-exerted cheeks. Armin is still a little sore, reaches behind himself a few times to feel how raw he is, pretending he doesn’t notice that Jean is getting hard again.

Jean starts doing that thing where he gets sleepy and starts mindlessly humping whichever body is closest to him. Eren follows Armin’s forearm with his hand and catches him touching himself once, traces his trembling fingers around Armin’s, feels him too and groans quietly.

“This definitely needs to become a regular thing,” Eren mumbles.

Jean snorts a little, his eyes closed and voice heavy with exhaustion. “You definitely need to get a job, then, if buying fifty dollar panties is going to be a weekly thing.”

Armin peeks open an eye to catch Eren’s frown, and reaches behind himself to smack Jean in the thigh.

“It’s still whatever-I-want-day, no fighting,” he says.

A regular thing means defining this _as_ a thing - that they, the three of them, are in some kind of relationship now. The thought makes Armin feel warm and a little woozy, so he nuzzles his face into Eren’s neck, licks gently at his throat to calm himself down.

He grins when he feels both Jean and Eren’s threaded fingers resting on his hip between them, a quiet truce for the time being, at Armin’s request. They love each other, really, even if they won’t admit it, and it’s realizing this that Armin decides he doesn’t care what they define themselves as - as long as this part of them doesn’t change.


	3. Chapter 3

Armin, for all his otherwise well put together persona, sleeps like a fucking swastika when he gets caught deep in slumber like this.

Which wouldn’t be so bad, except there’s three of them trying to share this double bed, stuffed into it like tinned sardines, bodies pressed together at almost all points, at any given time. It’s why Armin usually sleeps between them, so he doesn’t wake up having spastically tossed himself from the bed in the middle of the night.

Except, right now, Armin’s got an elbow digging into Jean’s stomach. Eren is still asleep, but Armin’s forearm is tossed less-than-affectionately across his face, and Jean is only moderately worried about him managing to suffocate from it.

Beneath the covers, at least, Armin’s legs are less tangled in knots, one thigh spread out, wedged between Jean’s. Jean’s dick decides it likes this position rather a lot, but his stomach wins out the battle when it begins to feel like Armin’s bones are skewering his kidneys.

He pulls Armin’s elbow away from him, reaches beneath him then to fold inward the arm that was carelessly tossed over Eren’s face, and then - as gentle as possible - resituates him altogether. He curls in on himself, fitting neatly against Jean’s chest, and Jean begins kissing the back of his neck without really meaning to— just because it’s there, and it’s warm skin, Armin’s skin.

Eren, opposite to what Jean assumed, starts to stir after Armin has been detached from him. Which makes sense, when he thinks about it— they’ve been sharing this tiny bed for so long, it must feel odd to not be all crammed together in it. All he’s got for comparison are his trips out of town, and how terribly he sleeps in hotel beds.

“Morning,” Eren mumbles to Jean, scooting closer in the bed, pushing his face into the pillows so it’s easier for him to kiss Armin’s sleep-puffy face.

Jean reaches over, smoothes a thumb down from Eren’s temple, into his hair, tugs a little on his earlobe, getting a little lost in the flex of his jaw when he kisses Armin into waking. “Morning,” he replies.

Armin starts pushing his hips back onto Jean’s dick, like his barely-awake conscious can feel it’s hard and needs attention. Jean doesn’t push it, but the gentle, warm slot of Armin’s bare ass against his flimsy boxers is testing his patience a little.

“I had a dream,” Eren begins, voice a raspy grumble. He always tells his dreams to whoever’s awake, it’s like his own verbal version of keeping a journal, “—that you and Armin were pilots and I was a prisoner.”

“A prisoner, like, _our_ prisoner?” Jean asks.

Eren nods, still occasionally peppering kisses across Armin’s face, lingering on the softness of his cheeks. Jean strokes his temple again, wonders if this was another bad one. Usually he’s up earlier if it’s bad.

“You guys kept me in a cage in the back, it was like a commercial jet or something.”

Jean frowns at this, he tucks the edge of his thumb beneath Eren’s jaw, his own heartbeat quieting at the feel of Eren’s steady pulse.

“Stupid dream,” Armin mumbles, his eyes still shut. “Why would we cage you and then let you go? I’d just keep you forever.”

Now that he’s awake, Armin very intently pushes his hips back onto Jean’s morning wood, popping his back out so that the head of Jean’s cock pushes right between his legs and against his sac.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Eren chides, despite it sounding terribly fond, along with the fact he’s now stroking Armin’s hair away from his face, kissing his sleepy mouth. “You dropped me but you both came with. We landed on an island of dinosaurs, it was awesome.”

Armin giggles, pushes his hips back far enough that Jean has to press his face into the back of Armin’s shoulder, muffles a groan against his skin. “Still a stupid dream,” Armin says, rather dreamily himself.

Jean can hear them kissing deeper now, the soft clicking sounds that mouths make when they’re wet and joined, tongues chasing each other. Jean peppers kisses across Armin’s shoulder, up his spine. His hand lands on Armin’s hip to guide him while he continues to push back, and Jean licks Armin’s pulse, his stomach jumping with the feel of it on his tongue.

That’s all it really boils down to, in a way— he has two alive, beating hearts at his disposal, and he really truly would jump from airplanes for both of them.

It takes a little while to realize that Eren is doing something to Armin, that Eren’s body is uncharacteristically stiff, and that Armin is only rolling his hips back to push them forward again. Jean lets his hand skitter across the soft pouch of Armin’s belly, catches Eren’s fist loosely wrapped around them both.

“What’d you dream about?” Jean says, nudging his nose against Armin’s ear. He pushes Eren’s hand away, pumps both of their cocks with his own fist, and pushes Armin’s body a little straighter by shoving his hips forward, presses the two of their bodies closer together.

Armin whimpers, Jean can feel a warm, wet drip of precome slide between his fingers and their skin, lifts his forefinger to smear it over both of their heads.

“Didn’t dream,” Armin mumbles, panting it into Eren’s mouth.

It’s funny the things you pick up when you spend your life with people. How Eren sometimes can’t sleep because of dreams, and how Armin can’t seem to sleep without them. Jean is somewhere in the middle, but he’s always been a light sleeper anyway. And he never remembers his dreams, but when Armin asks him why, he’s always quick to respond with _“because I always wake up to the best dream possible”_ , which sometimes earns him a lopsided grin, other times a punch, depending on the mood.

Armin starts to curl into Eren’s chest, gasping out quiet, high pitched moans, pressing his face into Eren’s armpit. He’s close, this means, so Jean’s hand tightens around them, picks up speed. Eren holds Armin’s head to his chest, uses his free hand to card through Armin’s messy hair, his eyes locked with Jean’s— which really only gives Jean the perfect vantage point to watching Eren’s eyes flicker into a half-mast aroused haze, his eyelashes fluttering prettily against his pale cheeks.

Jean leans over Armin, kisses up his spine a few times, and then kisses what he can reach of Eren, which happens to be the very tip of his nose. He is essentially dry-fucking Armin’s ass at this point, or at least the crease of it, and Armin’s entire body quakes on a painfully adorable shout as he spills all over Eren’s dick and Jean’s hand.

Eren’s eyes slide shut, he dips down to kiss the top of Armin’s head, his own hips pushing forward into Jean’s fist, so much so that Jean’s slickened knuckles keep pushing into Eren’s stomach. Armin lies like the dead between them, but Eren by himself makes it much easier to tell when he’s coming, so Jean cups his fist around him and catches it.

He turns away after, wipes the mess from his palm onto some tissues and bins them. He’s tired again, his arm a little strained. Armin does that thing where he conks the fuck out while he comes down from the high after an orgasm, and then suddenly zips back into being fully alert and awake. He pulls himself up, sits on the pillows so that the soft curve of his thigh presses into Jean’s nose. Jean starts kissing him there blindly, because he can.

Before he really knows what’s happening, Eren is crawling between his legs, a lump of warm limbs beneath the covers while he peels off Jean’s boxers, before sucking Jean into the wet heat of his mouth. Jean grunts, his eyes still shut, his open mouth scraping teeth down the side of Armin’s thigh.

Armin must be reading or something, only half paying attention, because he’s absently stroking the back of Jean’s neck throughout all of this, trailing down to occasionally swipe the pad of his thumb over a nipple, or tracing the indents on the back of his ribs.

Jean pushes his face in between Armin’s leg and his pillow, Eren sucking him gently enough for it to be maddening, using the hand that isn’t holding him up to play with Jean’s balls. He comes not in a burst, but more a stream of electric heat, spilling down the back of Eren’s throat.

He’s left panting, short of breath between Armin’s skin and the fabric of their pillowcases, and he feels Eren crawling up from beneath the covers. Eren tugs on Jean’s jaw, away from his burrowed nest of thigh plus pillow, holds him while he kisses him forcefully, perhaps a little lewdly. Armin giggles at the both of them again, and Jean has to pretend he isn’t a little sleepily turned on by Eren pushing his own taste back onto his tongue.

“Brush your teeth, brat,” Jean grunts, shoving Eren weakly away from him. Jean sits up to see that Armin _is_ reading, something on his phone that Jean can’t really see without glasses. Jean sits next to Armin, rubs tiredly at his face, his shoulders breaking out in goosebumps when Armin leans over to kiss them.

“G’morning,” Armin says, a little late, but still it makes Jean smile like an idiot.

And really— who needs dreams, when you have this?


	4. Chapter 4

Eren, when he’s quietly brooding, is not unlike a prison wall. Made of painted brick, holding things in more than keeping them out, all covered in spikes and electric wire. He sits about as rigid, too, glaring at nothing in particular, pretending Armin isn’t half clamboring into his lap with his ass very intently pushed up into the air.

“Come on,” Armin coos, brushing the short bristle of hair behind Eren’s ear, whispering entirely on purpose, even though Jean can hear them both quite clearly. “What’s wrong?”

Eren sighs in a way that betrays how he is typically so tightly wound that even flirting pisses him off— it’s like he’s tired, or fed up, and Armin isn’t sure he likes this kind of quiet admittance of defeat.

“Nothing,” Eren says, and he pushes Armin away from him without being forceful, moves to stand and hikes his hoodie farther up his shoulders. “Going out,” he declares, slamming the door behind him leaving Armin stunned on the couch, and Jean standing looking like he half expected this whole thing.

“Can we spoil the surprise, please?” Armin pleads to Jean. “He’s miserable.”

“Not yet,” Jean says, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose, still with his ass parked up on the counter so he could watch Armin torture Eren from the most advantageous height.

“What if he doesn’t come home?”

“He will,” Jean answers quickly, confident enough that Armin feels less anxious about the whole thing.

—

The thing about planning something like this with Jean is that he’s sloppy and rather scatterbrained when he wants to be. Where Armin would’ve had this all figured out a month and a half in advance, Jean is the one tugging Armin into the shower with him to discuss it, sharing whispers while Eren is still in the room. Which, fortunately, Jean is too thick to notice, but Armin isn’t— Eren feels left out.

Which is the intention, at least this once, but still.

There really isn’t much planning needed, actually. Jean has been working at all ridiculous hours, and Armin’s school clashes with Eren’s shifts— and it’s just generally been a fucking nightmare to get them all in one room long enough to sleep together. They’ve never had issues coordinating sex before, mainly because it never needed coordination, but it’s more that they’re all tethered too tight, wound and waiting to unravel.

“He’s turning 22, you know? Everyone hates that year, it comes after such an apparently monumental one that it’s like a blip, hardly even registers,” Jean had said at the time, blushing as he fumbled with his words and talked with his hands, like he thought he wasn’t allowed to make these kinds of plans for Eren— for either of them. Armin found it ridiculously endearing.

It’s a little ironic then that the plan is to basically pretend Eren’s birthday doesn’t exist until the exact time of his birth, which just so happens to be 11:47pm (according to Armin’s shoddy sources), leaving basically the entire day as a full blank. Armin took the day off, thinking they would need it, but Jean’s schedule doesn’t work that way. Besides, it’s not like they don’t spend nights in with pizza and maybe half an episode of Trailer Park Boys on occasion— it’s just the _sex_ bit that’s hard to get down to.

So that’s it— their plan is to essentially ignore Eren on his birthday, on purpose, up until the very last minute.

Eren doesn’t point any of it out— of course he doesn’t. He loves attention but hates asking for it, it’s the one thing Jean always says he loves about him— how you give him an inch and he takes a mile; kiss him once and let him know you want it, and he’s suddenly all up on you like he’s been waiting his entire life for you to ask.

Still, Jean has his sources. The owner of Eren’s old haunt has been on his speed dial for some time, Armin only recently found it.

And as fucking messy as Jean can be, he also means well and Eren, once he gets it, will be too fucking elated to be upset.

—

Eren does come home, thankfully, with a half muttered curse in Jean’s direction (something about being a narc), and he’s in bed before either of them are. Jean leans back and does his Fonz Seal of Approval shit to Armin, and Armin tries to muffle his laughter. Eren would probably flip the bed over if he thought they were amused by his foul mood.

Armin is so tired of waiting by the time he crawls into bed, his body is vibrating with anticipation. Not because of the plan— they don’t actually have much planned, not outside of when and where this is all going to happen— but because he hates making Eren think they forgot his birthday.

So it makes Armin jolt when he hears Jean’s phone buzzing, the alarm telling them it’s time. Eren is asleep, which they hadn’t expected— he’s usually up well past midnight. Armin immediately clings to Eren’s back, wrapping an arm around his chest, all while Jean holds Eren’s face in his hands, kissing each eyelid until they start to flutter open.

“Morning birthday-brat,” Jean’s voice rumbles, a telltale sign that he actually had managed to fall asleep, the deep timber of it making Armin’s cock thicken. Feels like he’s been waiting a _fucking year_ —

“What?” Eren mumbles blearily.

Armin licks the soft skin behind Eren’s ear, making Armin squirm happily when Eren grips his wrist, squeezing it, like he’s making sure this is real, that they’re all in bed together at the same time— that they both remembered.

Jean kisses his mouth now, filthy and wet, Armin hears it before he has the notion to sit up and watch. He dips his face down just to tease, to flick his tongue against the corners of their moving mouths, whining like he needs it. Eren makes a sound like he’s dying, turns his face to Armin to kiss him properly, all while Jean’s mouth makes a wet trail to his ear.

“Lie back,” Armin hears Jean whisper.

Eren obeys, muttering out half formed curses, all while Armin hums and kisses down the length of his torso, yanking his boxers down while he’s there.

“You fucking assholes, I thought you forgot— _ungh_ ,” Eren cries out, panting and desperate. Armin’s kissing the head of Eren’s dick, with more tongue than lips, all while Jean sucks on a nipple, gets it pink and peaked, swollen a little.

“We decided we’d celebrate with cheap hookers and pizza tomorrow,” Jean murmurs into his skin, open mouth trailing hot up the center of his check, pausing to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Wanted to give your gift _right_ on time.”

Armin glances up from the bunched up covers around his neck, up the length of Eren’s torso to catch Eren whipping his head to the side, searching for the clock.

“Jesus, _that’s_ what you guys were doing?”

Jean frowns like Eren just told him his idea was stupid (it kind of was), so to keep Eren from being able to vocalize it properly Armin expertly sucks down his cock until it hits the back of his throat, burying his nose in the dark hair below Eren’s navel.

Eren whimpers, all traces of outrage forgotten, while Jean reaches down, touches Armin’s throat, traces the outline of Eren’s cock stretching his larynx. Armin hums so they both can feel it, an intentional stimulant, and then moans around the dick on his tongue when he hears Jean kissing Eren again, wet and loud.

Armin pulls off after a while, his jaw aching and his legs trembling, body alight with thrumming anticipation. He’s still wet and open, a product of preparation from about half an hour ago. He climbs up into Eren’s lap, straddles his thighs, all while Eren is still distracted by the wet caresses of Jean’s tongue. Armin positions Eren’s cock beneath him, sits with his entire weight in one fluid push, and tries to fight coming so soon solely from the strained groan Eren shouts from behind gritted teeth.

He doesn’t wait for anything, Jean nipping little bites and kisses along Eren’s jaw, all while Eren gapes at Armin fucking himself so enthusiastically, bouncing on his hips. They get a rhythm going, Eren’s unconscious thrusts upwards meeting Armin on the way down, so when Jean guides Eren’s hand to his hair, it all just clicks into place without needing to be said.

Eren pushes Jean’s face down so it’s level with Armin’s dick, Jean opening his mouth to suck Armin until he’s more hard than soft, Eren essentially fucking them both with how his hips push Armin past Jean’s red and swollen lips.

“Fuck,” Eren groans, his head falling back after straining his neck to watch them. His hand grips in Jean’s hair tighter, Armin feels it in the grunt it pulls from the back of Jean’s throat, and Armin yelps when he feels it, full and covered, all at once, so fucking close already.

“Wait, c’mere,” Eren says, tugging on Jean’s hair until he’s kissing him again, Armin’s taste passing between their tongues.

This is about as far as their plan went, so Armin doesn’t really notice he’s stopped pushing himself down, more a gentle rock on Eren’s hips, while Eren seems to want to situate Jean so he’s straddling his stomach.

“I want him to fuck you,” Eren says, blissed out and sounding far more drunk than alcohol has ever managed to. “I want to fuck him while he fucks you.”

Jean makes another nearly inhuman noise, having been oddly quiet up until now, wiggling his hips back like he’s been waiting for it, half expecting Eren to request this. Armin is already reaching for the lube, wetting Jean’s hole, smirking when he feels Eren’s fingers already inside him— seems Armin wasn’t the only one who thought to plan ahead solo.

Armin stops moving for long enough to position Jean so it’s a smooth slide backwards for him, so that Jean’s balls rest on Eren’s stomach, him bearing the weight of the both of them, for the most part. When Eren starts thrusting again, pushing up against Armin’s ass, the forward momentum it gives Armin into the tight heat of Jean has him losing his balance, gripping Jean’s shoulder for support.

He’s beginning to lose track of time, really, because he’s been on edge and ready to come for what feels like a month now, and being fucked and fucking someone else is kind of pushing his limits. Still, Armin is aware enough that he feels Eren’s fingers tracing where he and Jean are joined, moans a little when Eren’s forefinger slides in alongside his dick. He can even feel Eren curling it, doing that thing he does that gets Jean to completely power off, coming from a single touch. The pull of his finger makes his knuckle rub relentlessly at the sensitive underside of Armin’s dick, which has him coming in slow pulses, coating Eren’s hand where it leaks out of Jean.

Jean comes on a muffled shout, his mouth covered by Eren’s, kissing him while Eren lays back and plays with him, pushes Armin’s come back into his hole.

Jean eventually rolls off of both of them, panting like he’s just run a marathon, so Eren tugs Armin down to kiss him. Eren’s mouth tastes like Jean, which is a heady thing to notice while you’re barely finished coming down from an orgasm, still being lazily fucked. Eren cups the curve of Armin’s ass, pulling him apart with each palm, and then plants his feet and pistons his hips like he fucking means it this time, like he wants Armin to remember this for days.

By the time it’s all said and done, Armin is too tired to move to the bathroom, and he whimpers thankfully when Jean appears like a shadow, wiping them both down. He kisses each of them, and then hops back into the bed with an almost renewed vigor after he’s tossed the rag into the shower to deal with tomorrow.

“Fucking happy birthday to me,” Eren slurs, fucked out and grinning up at the ceiling, Armin curled up against his side and his free arm beckoning Jean to do the same, like a king summoning his harem. Jean snorts, but he goes to him anyway.

—

They do celebrate the next day, the way they always do, though with less hookers and more Netflix— and maybe more pizza. Eren’s put on a bit of weight since he’s cut down on the drinking, but Jean is kind of obsessed with it, the tiny roll of his stomach. He’s always had a thing with that for Armin too, so sometimes when he’s got them both naked his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store.

Armin still gets Eren a present, because he will rue the day where sex replaces tearing open wrapped gifts. Jean gets him one too, a bundle of retro video games that of course Eren gapes at, like Jean wouldn’t know how to find anything, anywhere.

Armin’s gift a little less flashy— a tshirt with three little hearts and arrows pointing both left and right, stating “I’m with them”. It’s kind of tacky and lame, and it was meant to be a joke, honestly, but Eren is sincere when he says he loves it— he loves _them_. Armin decides that whoever said 22 was a shitty birthday just wasn’t doing it right.


End file.
